The Gated Trilogy

by Matt Drabble

  “Martha Raines?” she said to the eight year old. “Whatever are you doing out of bed?”

  “The man woke me up,” Martha answered sleepily.

  “What man?” Sarah asked.

  “Man in my room,” the little girl answered.

  Sarah had witnessed the nightmares of small children too many times to count over the years at the boarding school, but something clawed at her insides at the words now.

  The school was always patrolled at night by a staff member on a rota system and the security on the windows and doors was second to none.

  There were also panic alarms on the walls of the corridors in the accommodation block.

  The buttons were under a guarding bracket that staff held a key for to prevent mischievous hands from playing with.

  Sarah found her hand reaching out to the big red button before she stopped herself.

  She had suffered from panic attacks for years after she’d first left Eden. But ever since she had come to the UK to live and work at Ravenhill she had fought her demons to an uneasy draw and found a kind of solitary peace. She was unwilling to surrender to her fears and spoil her sanctuary.

  “I’m sure that it was just a dream Martha,” she soothed. “Would you like me to walk you back to your room and check under the bed for monsters?” Martha giggled and held out her hand.

  Sarah led the girl back along the corridor and down to the floor below. Martha was a sweet kid and never an ounce of trouble, but she also wasn’t given to flights of imaginative fancy either.

  The corridors were dimly lit by a night setting on the lighting. Sarah walked towards the girls’ room holding Martha’s small hot hand. She stamped all over her own unease at the night’s hour and her scare from the morning.

  Most of the girls shared rooms and Martha was housed with another older girl called Deborah Vance.

  “Is Deborah still asleep?” Sarah whispered as they approached the room.

  Martha shrugged in reply.

  Sarah pushed open the bedroom door quietly so as not to disturb the older girl. The room was much the same as the others. Over the 6 years that she had worked here, only the posters had changed.

  She stared into the darkness and pushed her way softly into the room. There was a slumbering shape tucked under the blankets in Deborah’s bed that she could just make out.

  The curtains suddenly billowed under a breath of icy wind and Sarah felt her mouth run dry; windows were never opened at night here because of the cold.

  There was a fire escape by every window from the second floor up which meant an easy exit, but also possibly an easy entrance as well.

  She walked slowly to Deborah’s bed with her heart pounding hard against her ribs.

  She snaked out a hand and gripped the blankets.

  She drew them back slowly, praying to receive an angry rebuke from a stirring teenager but she only found two pillows lying to make the shape of a person.

  She ran back out into the corridor and fumbled desperately with the key on her bunch. Her fingers sweated heavily and she only just managed to jam the key into the lock.

  She wrenched the bracket off and threw it to the floor whilst Martha watched on teary eyed. She hit the red panic button hard and all hell broke loose.

  ----------

  Alastair Barnaby heard the screaming alarm and was momentarily rooted to the spot in shock.

  He had served at Ravenhill for longer than he could remember and the panic button had never been used before outside of prearranged testing.

  He could already hear the panicked stumbling of children wrenched from the realms of dreams into the dead of night.

  He snapped himself into action as his internal machine took over. His was a life of schedules and order, even when chaos threatened to invade.

  “YOU KNOW THE DRILL!” he shouted over the ringing bells of the alarm, as confused faces emerged from bedrooms. “Team leaders, sort your charges and lead them out carefully to the designated areas; this is not a drill.”

  He saw Ms Tibbs materialize at the end of the corridor. The PE teacher’s face was nervous but she looked in control as she started to supervise the children.

  He was glad of her presence; she was a sturdy and reliable teacher capable of holding her emotions in check. He was also relieved that it hadn’t been her to hit the alarm; if it had been she then it wouldn’t have been a mistake.

  He nodded to her curtly as he began to head downwards, sweeping each floor.

  The panic alarm was designed to sound completely different to the fire alarm to make sure that there was never any confusion.

  It was an unfortunate necessity in this modern age where large congregations of children were concerned. The panic alarm was there for intruders and missing pupils. If someone had hit the alarm, then there was cause for real concern.

  He worked his way down through the floors making sure that no one was in any danger of a stampede.

  He passed Ms King who was doing a passable job of keeping an orderly watch over her designated area. She was young and impressionable and often a little immature, but he had hopes for her future.

  He had been harbouring hopes that she had been the one to hit the alarm in error, but that hope was extinguished when he saw her scared and confused face.

  On the floor below he saw Mr. Keaton and for once the man seemed to be acting more as a teacher than a friend to the children.

  He was a decent enough teacher but he could be a little too close to the children at times and didn’t always carry enough weight and authority.

  He headed down to the dining hall which was the designated meeting area.

  The police were instantly notified by the alarm which fed into the station and they would be dispatched immediately.

  Barnaby knew that he needed to know exactly what was happening by the time they arrived.

  Mr. Duncan, the caretaker-come-groundsman, held a shotgun license that was kept under secure lock and key. Upon hearing the alarm he should already be patrolling the grounds outside. Ms Marks, the school nurse, was already on hand and awaiting instructions.

  The teacher on night watch carried a walkie-talkie and every teacher kept one fully charged in their rooms. But in all of his years here, the alarm had never been used before and he could only hope that his frequent drills had taken root.

  “This is Barnaby in the dining hall” he barked into the mike. “Sound off.”

  “Tibbs, full count heading into hall now.”

  “Jemima, I mean King,” came a trembling reply. “Everyone’s accounted for.”

  “Keaton, full count.”

  “Mears?” Barnaby snapped into the radio. “Mears sound off?” There was no answer.

  He looked up just as Ms Tibbs came through the doors with her wards under tight control. Every older child was paired with a younger one and they marched in two by two.

  Ms King followed next but her children were staggered and running excitedly, but at least they were here. He made a mental note to address her failings in the morning.

  Mr. Keaton came through immediately after and Barnaby was pleased to see that his floor was under strict control.

  “Where’s Sarah?” Keaton asked worriedly as soon as his children were lined up.

  “She hasn’t reported in yet,” Barnaby answered curtly.

  Keaton turned to leave the dining hall upon hearing the news.

  “Where do you think you are going Mr. Keaton?” Barnaby demanded incredulously. “You know the drill.”

  Keaton didn’t answer, only turned and ran back out into the corridor leaving the Headmaster fuming.

  ----------

  Sergeant Donald Ross floored the car as fast as he dared.

  He had been in the police force for over 20 years with barely a raised heartbeat.

  The most danger he had ever faced was when trying to coax old lady Watson’s cat out from under her greenhouse.

  He was comfortably cuddly as his wife liked to describe him and wa
y too close to retirement to start undertaking real police work now.

  They tore through the narrow country lanes, waking the dead with screaming sirens and flashing red and blue lights.

  He risked a glance over at the young constable next to him whose face was wide with eager excitement. William Paterson was a new recruit and only just posted to the sleepy village of Bexley Cross.

  The two of them made up the entire department and they covered the small village and its many acres of surrounding farmland. Their small station also had the privilege of carrying the emergency alarm for the Ravenhill Academy.

  One of the benefits of being Sergeant here meant that the job came with a small cottage next to the station.

  There was no real crime to speak of, save for the occasional farming or boundary dispute and they only worked a 9-5 shift. In the evenings the calls were rerouted to his cottage and the alarm had scared the life out of him and his good wife.

  He’d had to check the manual to find out what to do next. He’d notified the big city police and they had told him to first confirm before reporting back with requirements.

  The alarm had never gone off at the school before and he knew that the Headmaster, Barnaby, ran the place with military precision. That thought troubled him greatly when there was no immediate telephone call to signal a false alarm.

  “C’mon Sarge, floor it!” Paterson said excitedly, as he bounced around in his seat.

  Donald ignored the young PC, deciding to expend his energy on not crashing the car.

  ----------

  Sarah was frantically searching her floor, every room, and every closet.

  Her face was ashen as Stuart rounded the corner and he could immediately see that something was very wrong.

  She didn’t want to scare the children that she was herding down the stairs by speaking aloud so she moved to his side and she whispered into his ear that Deborah Vance was missing. She saw the impact of her statement land hard on his face.

  In her admitted panic she suddenly realised that she wasn’t carrying the walkie-talkie that she was supposed to when leaving her room at night. All protocol had left her clouded mind and she was running around like a headless chicken.

  She saw that Stuart was carrying his and she held out her hand demandingly. She motioned to the children and he took her meaning and started organizing them down the stairs.

  She ran back into the corridor above and barked into the radio. “This is Mears for Barnaby.”

  “Mears? What on earth is going on?” the Headmaster’s voice retorted back, with undisguised annoyance.

  “Are you alone?”

  “I’m outside now. Was it you that hit the alarm?”

  “We have a missing pupil, Deborah Vance,” she said succinctly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  To his credit, that seemed to be all it took as he took her word for it.

  “Any signs of a break-in?” he asked calmly.

  “No, the window was open not broken. There were no signs of a struggle, but her roommate Martha Raines came to my room saying that someone was in her room and had woken her.”

  “OK, the police have been notified by the alarm and we haven’t cancelled the call. I’ll set Maurice and Ms Tibbs to search the grounds for any signs. I’ll send Ms King back up to help you search the rooms. The children will remain in the dining hall under the supervision of Mr. Keaton and Ms Marks. I’ll wait for the police and inform them of the current situation. Chances are that this is still just a false alarm and young Ms Vance is perfectly safe, but you’ll wait for Ms King before you start searching and stay in touch.”

  She heard the wailing siren of the approaching police car turn onto their drive; Maurice had apparently had the foresight to unlock the main gates in preparation.

  She waited for Jemima’s return and they started to methodically go from room to room searching every dark corner with increasing concern.

  Maurice and Ms Tibbs searched the grounds outside with the two police officers for any signs of intrusion but with no success.

  For some reason, the older sergeant seemed unwilling to call in for reinforcements before he was sure that there was just cause. She knew that the world was a dark and dangerous place even if he didn’t and she couldn’t understand his reluctance.

  She and Jemima had returned to the gathering outside of the main doors; people were safely wrapped up against the freezing night. The two cops, Maurice, Dora Tibbs, as well as Mr. Barnaby, shuffled from foot to foot.

  “She’s not here,” Sarah said, panicked and fearing the worst.

  “Let’s not panic here, lassie,” Sergeant Ross said patronizingly, in her opinion. “I’m sure that there is a rational explanation here; this isn’t the States after all, Miss.”

  “There’s a young girl missing, for Christ’s sake!” she snapped.

  “Let’s keep a cool head, Ms Mears,” Barnaby warned.

  “Uh, excuse me folks,” Stuart suddenly said, interrupting them.

  “Mr. Keaton, your station is in the dining hall!” Barnaby snapped irritably.

  “I know but I might have something important,” Stuart replied.

  They all turned to look at him with varying degrees of hope and anger in their eyes.

  “I’m afraid that I might have made a mistake during the headcount. Alex Thompson, one of my boys, is also missing.”

  “Two kids are missing!” Sarah said, turning to face the elderly sergeant. “Now will you take this seriously? What the hell use are you? Do you really think that the monsters of the world aren’t going to touch your tiny corner of the fucking world?” she raged.

  She felt them all turning towards her with surprise at her outburst but she was powerless to stop herself.

  She started to cry with frustration at their inability to panic as she was. They hadn’t seen the things that she had and they didn’t know what was out there.

  She felt her credibility slip when the hip flask fell from her dressing gown pocket.

  “Um, I think that it means an answer, rather than another problem,” Stuart said awkwardly into the silence, as he bent down and picked up the flask, handing it back to her uncomfortably. “Word is that they’re kind of a couple,” he shrugged.

  “But we’ve searched every inch of the school and grounds,” Barnaby said surely.

  “Not every inch,” Maurice broke in with inspiration. “What about my cottage?”

  They found the two lovebirds asleep in front of a roaring fire. The biggest relief, other than finding them, was finding them fully clothed; they were both 13, after all.

  The police retreated with anger in the sergeant’s eyes and disappointment in his young colleague’s.

  Sarah felt embarrassed at her loss of control. She had noticed that Barnaby had a suspicious look on his face and she started to wonder if her overly large nightcap was noticeable on her breath.

  Dora Tibbs had cast her a scornful glance as she left to help supervise the children’s march back to bed. Stuart and Jemima had looked upon her with naked pity and worry and she didn’t know which was worse.

  CHAPTER 4

  The next day dawned with grumpy tired faces all round. A lack of sleep, combined with the stress and worry of the night before was still fresh in everyone’s minds and Sarah wasn’t surprised to find herself summoned to Barnaby’s office.

  She had tried to avoid everyone’s stares at breakfast. She couldn’t help but feel that she had made a fool out of herself by screaming in the faces of the cops.

  The dining hall had been subdued and full of yawning. Both Jemima and Stuart had tried to talk to her afterwards but she had quickly dodged them on her way early to class. As well as teaching Art and English, every teacher took an assembly class first thing.

  She would have said that back home it was called a homeroom class, but she had little inclination to think of anywhere as “home” anymore.

  There had been a note in her pigeon hole before brea
kfast requesting her presence in Barnaby’s office; there was, of course, no such thing as a “request” when it came to Barnaby.

  She had soon found that many Brits hid their emotions behind a cool reserve of politeness and the Headmaster was indeed an expert at the art.

  She walked along the long corridor that led to Barnaby’s office. The walls were lined with ancient plaques depicting past glories and historical records of achievement at the school. The history of Ravenhill was etched into its very walls and put on display for all to see.

  The delightfully named Mavis Merryweather was the school’s and Barnaby’s personal secretary.

  She was a short plump woman in her fifties with an officious and protective manner over her boss. She was one of the few staff members who trekked into Ravenhill on a daily basis from one of the surrounding villages.

  “Good morning, Mavis,” Sarah smiled pleasantly.

  “Good morning, Ms Mears,” the secretary replied coolly.

  Uh-oh, she’s not happy with me, Sarah thought despondently. Mavis could be a royal pain in the ass when she wasn’t happy. “He wanted to see me.”

  “He should be catching forty winks is what he should be doing; it was a late night for everybody,” Mavis said pointedly.

  Great, so suddenly I’m to blame because a girl snuck out of her room, Sarah thought morbidly.

  She thought back to her emotional outburst in the early hours of the morning and more importantly she thought about the looks on their faces.

  This place had been the closest thing to a home that she had found and she hoped that she hadn’t ruined it.

  There had been a few occasions since she had left Eden when she had flipped out. Once in San Francisco she had been convinced that someone was following her home at night.

  Her drinking had threatened to get out of control and she had started to see threats around every corner.

  She had left the school there quickly before they started to think about firing her. Some days she thought that it was a wonder that she was functioning in any capacity.

  Barnaby’s intercom buzzed and his crackly voice came out. “Mrs. Merryweather is Ms Mears here yet?”